life is too short and love is too long

Written for tabiori week prompt Aftermath and 100ships prompt #53 Crow.

Title: timing, and such things
Rating: Mature
Category: M/M
Fandom: Blue Lock
Author: shroomy(y)star
Ship/Characters: Hiori You/Karasu Tabito
Warnings/Notes: post-canon, career ending injuries, non-explicit sex, melancholy
Word Count: 2865
[100ships table]

It’s almost funny, in a way.

They’re sitting at the edge of a deserted pitch—one of their training fields, though it is empty at this time of the night, of course; Karasu just broke in and Hiori just followed, as these things go—with one of their legs wrapped up respectively, perfectly mirrored. Karasu’s left and Hiori’s right, and to Karasu’s right, there’s Hiori. Things like that. It’s almost funny, that they have nearly the same injury, and that they got them so close together, too.

Almost. Might have been funny, if it were anyone else, but the irony is still there, ain’t it? Karasu can’t help but smile rather dryly at it, just a little bit.

“What’s this?” Hiori asks, finally. “Some sort a’ goodbye?”

Maybe. Maybe that’s what it is. “What’s it fer ya?” Karasu asks, instead of replying. Hey, his leg’s in a bad way, so he should at least be allowed to run away this way, he reckons. “Are ya relieved?”

It’s a mean question, he’s pretty sure. With all he knows about Hiori—though, now that he thinks about it, they never quite really talk all that openly, do they; it’s this coexisting, it’s this silent dance, it’s this affection deeply ensconced into his chest, and nothing more—it’s a mean question. Hiori’s relationship to football is complicated on a good day, but since Blue Lock, since the NEL, it’d been…

It’s a mean question. But that’s just the kind of guy Karasu Tabito is: always, always poking around at people’s weak spots. That way he doesn’t have to think about his own. Bonafide bully, eh?

But what sense does that have, when they’re mirrored right back to him?

Hiori’s smiling when Karasu glances at him, which is perhaps the worst possible outcome. Tilts his head, hair framing his face so softly. Trails off with his eyes, sky-blue, but desaturated grey in the dark like this.

“In a way,” says Hiori. “Yer here with me, after all.”

True. Karasu’s leg is also broke. Twin fractures in both their legs, here at the edge of this field at the end of the world. Isn’t that awfully poetic?

Awfully dramatic, too. “Pulling me down with ya, are ya,” Karasu says, scratching over the grass with the tip of his shoe. Shoe, not cleat, naturally. That part of his life is over, it seems, and it doesn’t feel real here, hasn’t felt real yet at all, floating in some sort of limbo, vacuum ready to pop. He thinks about Bambi Osaka.

“Always.”

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.

He’s the one to crawl closer, to bridge the space between them, in the end. Hiori blinks his big eyes real slow, parts his lovely lips just a little bit. He’s beautiful and he’s perfect and it’s ridiculous, all of it, but most of all how scared Karasu still is even now. Even when everything’s already over.

Hiori’s lips are soft and weirdly cool against Karasu’s. His face is soft, too, when Karasu reaches out to cup it, and his breath fans much hotter than the breeze over his face.

“Karasuya,” Hiori says, so quiet that Karasu can’t tell if he’s delighted or if he’s imagining it, when Karasu pulls away; fingertips clawing into Karasu’s jaw to prevent him from going too far. Karasu shudders under the sudden touch and the cold air out here. “Gettin’ bold, are we?”

It feels most violent, the way Karasu flushes all over. Feels violent, too, watching Hiori’s eyes thin to half-moons with amusement. Dangerous, thrills down Karasu’s spine, but he’s always ignored it, because it’s always pulled him in deeper, deeper, deeper until he had to forcibly push it an arm’s length away, this feeling. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

It feels futile, to have alarm bells ringing in a place like this, at a time like this. Feels futile, to still have something like a survival instinct, however malfunctioning Karasu’s has always been; danger, danger, danger everywhere. In everything, at every corner. It’s softer and sharper with Hiori, simultaneously, somehow.

Hiori’s lashes brush over Karasu’s cheek. Hiori tips his head and leans in again and Karasu flinches, but the only thing that happens is the press of his lips once more. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

Karasu’s hand slips on the grass, and he eats shit. His head slides down, forehead slamming into Hiori’s shoulder, sliding off it and down into Hiori’s lap.

Almost Hiori’s lap, rather, because he does manage to catch himself on his hands, a yelp caught behind his teeth. For a few moments, he’s frozen like that, heart pounding, forehead smarting from colliding with Hiori like that. Hiori is utterly still, makes no movement at all. Karasu can’t help but wondering, spinning around in oil-smear spirals in his head, whether he hurt Hiori. Whether he hurt them both.

Then Hiori laughs, snorting with it, short and sharp. “You okay?”

Seems like he is okay, then. Karasu only really manages to groan in response.

“Poor thang,” Hiori coos, patting Karasu’s head. It’s bristly against his scalp, the touch, with all that wax in the way. “And that after ya just got all brave!”

Asshole. Once Karasu has managed to claw his way up again—using Hiori’s shoulders to pull himself up—he glares at him. Hiori’s brows are a little furrowed—Karasu eases up his grip—but there’s still mirth dancing in those eyes of his. It pisses Karasu off. It tugs and tugs and tugs at Karasu’s sternum, pulls him closer, it always has.

He doesn’t claw himself an arm’s length away. Doesn’t manage to, he thinks; but perhaps he doesn’t think about it at all. Perhaps that’s always been Hiori’s effect on him, just a little.

A lot, right now. Enough, right now. It’s not like it still matters anymore.

“One day, ya’ll get what’s comin’ fer ya,” he grouses. Hiori just laughs.

Crawls over him.

Karasu doesn’t exactly fall over backwards, it’s more controlled—much more controlled, alright!—than that, but it feels much the same; a jolt in his chest, vertigo in his head. The grass is soft against his back, even through his tracksuit. Hiori’s head covers the moon like this, but he has two of those on his face, half moon smile all threatening and sweet.

Karasu wishes, for one moment, that he could know everything about Hiori. Every thought in Hiori’s head.

Though he’s also pretty sure he’d find plenty there that he wouldn’t like at all. It prickles.

“Will I?” says Hiori; voice chirpy, like a bird. “D’ya think so?”

For some reason, Karasu is very hard, all of a sudden. His face burns against the cool night air.

Ah, this is so stupid. Hiori’s voice, and the way he words things, it just… Faintly, ever so faintly, Karasu can feel Hiori’s breath on his face. It’s so stupid. They’re on the edge of a pitch at the end of the world with twin fractures in both their legs, and Hiori is crowding him into the ground, on top of him.

“Umm,” Karasu manages, somehow. “Are ya sure yer not hurtin’ yer leg like this?”

“Yer too cute,” Hiori says, which doesn’t answer his damn question. Doesn’t answer any of his damn questions, damnit, but it makes his face burn even more, makes him sweat under his stupid tracksuit. Makes it itch, the fracture; or rather, the skin right under the bandages. But who’s to say?

Who’s to say?

“Dude,” slips out of Karasu. “Get off me.”

He doesn’t actually want that, he thinks, quite distinctly. Hiori tilts his head like a curious animal, says, “You ain’t mean that.”

And fuck. Well. Fuck. It’s true, he doesn’t. He tries to glance down his body to see Hiori’s stupid leg, to see if it’s alright, but they’re crowded too close together. Hiori’s face is a little pale, but his eyes are wide and bright. Maybe it’s just his shoulder that hurts. Maybe he just enjoys having Karasu at his mercy like this, at last. Maybe that’s all.

It’s not like Karasu hasn’t noticed this guy’s wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing inclinations—they’ve been over this!—and the way they extend to the erotic. It’s not like Karasu hasn’t spend a rather big amount of time contemplating those.

They’ve never touched like this before. Karasu thinks he’s been in love with Hiori since the very beginning, and that’s the trouble, isn’t it? Because this, right here, is the end. Karasu is twenty-six years old and he’s been in love with Hiori his whole damn life. Because it began with football—he thinks of Bambi Osaka again—and it’s over now. This is the end.

“I wanna eat ya,” Hiori says, like he doesn’t see it at all; or, perhaps like he sees it all too well, because of course he does.

Karasu lets him, he always does. He’d let him do anything in the world to him; Hiori could genuinely unhinge his jaw and start tearing pieces out of him and he’d let him. And, well, it’s all already over, anyway, isn’t it? It’s over. Might as well.

Hiori’s lips are so soft, so soft, so soft, that they almost manage to distract Karasu from the way Hiori’s fingertips brush down his thigh. Almost.

His body gives a small jerk, his teeth click together. Against his mouth, Hiori’s curves into a smile. It’s so cold out here, but Hiori’s breath is searing, boiling hot where it fans over his face. Karasu’s head is spinning. His throat bobs when he swallows, and he can’t see Hiori’s face quite right like this; it’s all blurry up close.

“I won’t hurt ya,” says Hiori, into his mouth, and the words are heavy between Karasu’s teeth. “Don’t’cha worry.”

Karasu isn’t exactly worried—though he thinks he should be, shouldn’t he?—but he still thinks that’s a lie. It’s right there in the guy’s goddamn eyes, after all. It’s always right there; mister super sadist and all.

He manages to laugh, though it comes really rather late. It’s buzzing, the air around him. Who can blame him for being distracted when Hiori’s hand keeps inching down, even now? “‘S that so?” he says, trying for a grin. Like this, it should be blurry for Hiori, too, though, so. “Ya won’t? What if I want ya to?”

It doesn’t really land right. Hiori’s eyes are wide and curious and he doesn’t move even an inch, and it doesn’t really land right, but perhaps, it lands perfectly. There’s a hum at the back of Hiori’s throat, a noise that Karasu feels more than hears, vibrating in his bones.

Hiori’s voice. Hiori’s body, on top of him like this. The fact that they’re both ruined. Karasu taking Hiori here or Hiori following him or both. Pulling each other down.

Karasu wonders, for a moment, how it’d be if only Hiori got injured; what Hiori’d do, then, to him, perhaps. But that’s pointless and stupid as thrilling as that may be, and as much as that might collect in his erection in sparks of this weird scared arousal that holds him whole.

(He doesn’t want to think about what happened if it was only him that got injured.)

“Hiori—”

“No,” Hiori says, slow and by all means soft, but it’s still so heavy like this, it is. “Ya don’t get ta back down now.”

It throbs and throbs and throbs: both Karasu’s leg and Karasu’s dick. Everywhere.

“Don’t get ta? You been backin’ down yer whole life, mister.”

It’s not really true (anymore, but again, this is the end, so what does that matter; what do those years inbetween really matter), but Hiori doesn’t argue. Leans closer, closer, closer, nose nudging Karasu’s. “I won’t anymore.”

Anymore. Like there’s anything after this. Karasu laughs, but it’s a little wet. Karasu laughs, but it’s a little hollow, too, and Hiori just stares with those wide eyes. It makes Karasu feel just a little sick, the thought that Hiori has always been watching, and that he intends to keep watching; Karasu having always been watching, too, notwithstanding. It’s just different.

I won’t anymore, Hiori says, and Karasu wants to laugh again, feels it tickle inside of him, this noxious, self-deprecating thing, but Hiori leans back in to kiss him; and this time, he bites.

His teeth are small but sharp and his hand keeps nudging at Karasu’s thigh, threatening but not hurting. Quite yet, perhaps. Threatening, because all of him is, because that’s probably fun to him, or something, the dirty sadist. Karasu gasps into Hiori’s mouth and thinks about Hiori’s smile and all of that affection dancing in sky blue eyes and thinks it’s much easier to take the threat, anyhow.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Hiori’ll make him take both. Ya don’t get ta back down now, he says, and, I won’t anymore, and he’ll make him take both.

Karasu squeezes at Hiori’s shoulders, pushes just a little, but Hiori doesn’t budge. Nudges his tongue softly, sweetly against the swell of Karasu’s lips, and the saliva he leaves behind burns icy in the cold. Brushes his hand up Karasu’s leg, but instead of relief hitting him, Karasu shudders and gasps before Hiori’s hand even presses over his erection, giving Hiori the opportunity to push his tongue inside.

It’s such a stark contrast, the cool night air and the sheer heat of Hiori’s mouth, so stark that Karasu is helpless underneath it. Hiori isn’t touching his leg, his injury at all, and yet it smarts; and he wonders if it’s the same for Hiori, too. If it hurts where Karasu is grabbing at Hiori’s shoulders, digging his fingers in, right where Karasu slammed into earlier. Wonders if they’re just going to make each other hurt forever. Hiori bites again, this time at the tip of Karasu’s tongue, pulls it into his mouth just a little, and out of Karasu’s.

“Karasu,” Hiori says into his mouth, squeezing his dick, pressing a peck to his lips. “You’ll let me, right?”

It’s really stupid. There’s nothing beyond this.

But even if there was—

“Shaddup,” Karasu grouses instead of saying Always, because that would be embarrassing. Because there’s nothing beyond this, but Hiori’s still on top of him, because Hiori’s mouth is warm and soft and inviting and he’s going to eat him whole, and Karasu will let him. Always.

There’s not really a point to this, in the end, he thinks. It’s icy out and his leg’s bad and Hiori’s is too and it wasn’t even a spectacular end, it just happened. Things just happen.

Hiori squeezes at Karasu’s cock, rubbing his hand up and down its length, and Karasu’s head rolls back on its own. It’s uncomfortable, a little, the grass and the dirt and how cool it is. Hiori’s hair tickles his chin when Hiori dips down to mouth at Karasu’s throat. It feels good and it feels bad and that’s always been—

“We won’t play football anymore,” Karasu tells the sky, and the collection of stars splattered on there. He can’t help but feel like it’s pushing down on him, down, down, down. “I won’t play football anymore.”

“I don’t care,” says Hiori, in that soft tone of his. It’s not entirely true, Karasu knows that: football is complicated for Hiori—way more complicated than he’s ever let on even in the rare occasion they do talk about it—and one can argue about who this is a greater loss for, but it is one in both cases. “I want to have you, anyway.”

Karasu isn’t quite sure why he thought whatever they had going on was contingent on football, he realizes now. It just seemed obvious. He also thinks he should probably be worried at the way Hiori phrases these things, but…

“Yer an idiot,” he says instead of anything else he could say. Talking to Hiori makes him feel stupid.

Talking to Hiori, being pinned under Hiori—crow’s wings struggling against the claws of this wolf in sheep’s clothing—like this, right here, makes him feel alive. Hiori squeezes him until his cock jumps, until he twitches, groans, and he has to be so careful like this, so careful not to hurt them both.

Hiori isn’t careful at all. Hiori is more careful than anyone has ever been. It’s uncomfortable through the layers of cloth and against the pitch like this, but Karasu knows he’s going to get there, anyway. Hiori’s hands are warm and insistent and inevitable, and Karasu knows—

“I love ya,” Hiori says, then cocks his head, brushes his mouth over Karasu’s skin—undoubtedly looking at Karasu like a curious animal once more, a stare filled with such innocence that it makes Karasu’s head spin, that he can’t help but imagine what’s perhaps going on in that head of Hiori’s once more—adds, “I love ya, too.”

Which, Jesus.

Karasu lifts his arms and wraps them around Hiori’s neck and Hiori breathes against him, panting and cloying, rubs at him until Karasu comes in his pants at the edge of a football field at the end of the world, and Karasu lets him, lets him, lets him.